


Tear Me Apart

by greenhibiscus



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, James Bay (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenhibiscus/pseuds/greenhibiscus
Summary: Nick is the ghost haunting James and Harry's relationship.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), James Bay/Harry Styles, James Bay/Nick Grimshaw, James Bay/Original Male Character(s), Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles
Kudos: 4





	Tear Me Apart

It was the little things that made his stomach ache. 

Nick invited them over for a Netflix Premiere Party and they were the only guests that made it through till the credits. The film was aesthetically scarred and gave Harry a headache. It was subtitled and boring and incomprehensible. Nick’s expansive wine collection was the only respite. When the damned thing was finally over James offered to help wash up while Harry laid on the couch and tried to stop the room from spinning. Nick always had the best red wine. The deep rumble of Nick and James’ conversation was distant and Harry nodded off to the white noise. He woke up to the bark of Nick’s laughter and hauled himself off the couch and shuffled toward the kitchen. 

James and Nick were standing next to each other at the sink passing the last of the dishes back and forth. They were both smiling and Harry inhaled to announce himself as Nick rested his hand on the small of James’ back, just above his belt. Harry furrowed his brow. That was not a platonic touch. James stiffened before relaxing and leaning into Nick. The painful ache in Harry’s belly was sudden, but not unfamiliar. He hated himself. Nightmares of the BBC Spring Party danced through his mind and he fell into the kitchen noisily, pretending to be drunker than he was. 

James immediately wrenched himself away from Nick and Nick’s hand was left briefly suspended in the air. They both turned to look at him and James quickly grabbed Harry’s arm and held him up. James was strong and Harry hoped he was squeezing his bicep hard enough to leave bruises. 

“Easy, love,” he murmured in Harry’s ear. “Are you ready to go home? Shall I call a car?”

Harry breathed in James’ cologne and the scent of his laundry and felt as drunk as he was acting. He nodded and James pulled out his phone when Nick interrupted. 

“Don’t be silly, boys. I have two guest rooms and the ingredients for a mean breakfast fry up. Just sleep here tonight,” 

Nick looked tired and his smile seemed genuine. The painful anxiety in Harry’s belly began to relax. 

“Is that okay with you, Hazza?” James asked. Harry wrapped his arms around James’ shoulders and mumbled his assent. He was too jealous. James loved him. James and Nick were just friends. Friends who’ve fucked. 

“Oi, Jamesy. Just take him to bed, I can finish up here. I’m the host after all!” Nick flashed an over animated 1960’s Stepford smile as he sweepingly gestured to the kitchen. Harry laughed despite himself. It was nothing. He was just being immature and imagining things. 

Harry stumbled as James knelt down to let him crawl onto his back. James hooked his arms under Harry’s knees and they only fell into the wall a few times as they negotiated their way down the hallway and into the guest suite. James let Harry slide off his back and began to speak before Harry shoved him against the closed door and kissed him. It was long, and deep, and lovely. 

“You aren’t even that drunk, are you? You little minx,” James whispered when Harry finally pulled away. He hooked his fingers in Harry’s belt loops and pulled their hips together. “If you wanted to be alone you could have just said,” 

Harry kissed James’ neck and sank his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. James inhaled and Harry could feel his cock throbbing through their vintage, designer denim. Harry slowly sank to his knees, unbuttoning James’ shirt and kissing his smooth chest as he went. He undid James’ belt and pulled out his straining cock as James gasped. 

Harry looked up at him and whispered, “I don’t think you would’ve listened, love. You seemed a little busy,” 

He told himself that James’ scarlet flush and furrowed brow were just because he was so aroused, not because he was caught and guilty. It didn’t matter, anyway. Harry still sucked his dick like candy and wouldn’t let him come until he was almost in tears. Harry swallowed his cum when it finally pulsed into his mouth. 

James’ chest heaved as Harry guided him to the bed and pulled off their remaining clothes. Harry eased James down until his shoulders rested on the pillows. James blinked at him slowly as he stepped back and opened up the top drawer of the bedside table. They were in Nick Grimshaw’s house. He was nothing if not sexually prepared. Just as Harry thought a travel size bottle of lube and a strip of three condoms knocked into each other in the otherwise empty drawer. Classy. 

Harry grabbed the lube and a condom and returned to the bed where he crawled on top of James. He set the condom off to the side and clicked open the lube before coating his fingers. He sat up and gently spread James’ legs. They’d only done it like this a handful of times. 

“Harry,” James whispered as his eyes fluttered closed and Harry eased a finger into him. James was hot and tight and dug his nails into Harry’s arm. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” James asked as he writhed and flushed. Harry was working his prostate with three fingers and trying to ignore his own throbbing erection. James’ cock was hard again and laid on his belly, pink and occasionally twitching. 

“Do you want me?” Harry asked and slowly pulled his fingers out. James sighed and hummed his response through kiss swollen lips. 

“Of course I want you, baby. I always want you. So bad. Please, fuck me.” 

Harry grabbed the condom and sat back as he ripped the wrapper open and rolled it on his aching cock. He drizzled lube all over himself and spread it around as he lined himself up and pushed inside James. Harry was not gentle. James liked to feel it. 

The headboard slammed into the wall and Harry refused to stop fucking James until he screamed loud enough for Nick to hear. He came for the second time between their bellies and Harry felt the sticky warmth spread across his butterfly tattoo. 

He was fucking James so hard and it felt so good, and when he came deep inside he wished he wasn’t wearing a condom. He wanted to mark James as his. No one else was allowed to touch. Platonically or otherwise. 

He pulled out and threw away the condom without cuddling or kissing first. James didn’t seem to notice and was already dozing with his fingers laced together over his chest when Harry crawled back into bed and pulled the blankets over them both. He clicked off the lamp and watched James sleep as headlights from passing cars washed through the windows. 

—

The buzzing was going to ruin Harry’s night. And then Harry was going to ruin James’ night. 

They were at home and working together across the wide, obnoxious vintage coffee table Harry insisted on dragging home from the flea market. They were both sat crossed leg on opposing sides. James had his phone perched on the corner of the table, face down. He was busy water coloring a self portrait for his Instagram and either wasn’t noticing, or was actively ignoring, the constant notifications being broadcast through the aged cherrywood. 

Harry was working on his capsule collection with an indie, up-cycling based clothing company. They didn’t have a brick and mortar studio so Harry had been tagging his brand contact in posts he found to be inspiring, and that long suffering individual had converted the mess into a color pallet. Harry was then tasked with sketching silhouettes for two suit sets. This was more easily said than done and he couldn’t stop making everything look extremely chic, for stick figures. He furrowed his brow and scratched out another attempt at a fitted vest. 

zzzttt, zzzttt 

Harry’s eyes snapped to James’ phone, which had now almost wiggled itself off the table. 

“Are you going to get that?” 

Harry’s irritation shone through every syllable and James raised an eyebrow without looking up. 

“Get what?” 

Harry exhaled heavily and went back to his chicken scratch. 

zzzttt, zzzttt

Harry folded his lips over his teeth and bit down. 

Mercifully, James reached across the table and flipped the phone over in his palm. He smiled and leaned back against the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and clutching his phone like an excitable teenager. The painting he’d been devoted to all night sat forgotten. 

Harry could see the racerback, repurposed vest of his dreams so clearly in his imagination. It was just getting it down on paper that was proving difficult. He tried to sketch loosely like he’d seen James do for years, but it wouldn’t come. It was like his wrists and hands were filled with cement. He was used to easy success and had grown impatient.

It would be easier if he could just focus. He could focus if James would stop distracting him. 

James. Who was currently tapping away on his screen and smiling warmly, soft creases folded by his eyes. Harry melted whenever James looked at him like that. He loved him, but. 

He wasn’t so sure the feeling was mutual anymore. As hard as he’d tried he couldn’t forget the scene he stumbled into in Nick’s kitchen. They’d snuck out of the apartment the next morning before Nick emerged from his bedroom and hadn’t spoken of it since. Two months had passed. Two months of Harry watching James like he was changeling. Desperately trying to find evidence of an imposter, or undeniable demonstration that James was still the man who loved Harry enough to tolerate the awful attention that came with his special brand of fame.  
Harry refused to ask who was sending the texts. 

—

They’d been fighting all day about nothing. It started as soon as the sun rose and James pulled the blankets to his side of the bed leaving Harry cold and cross. They couldn’t agree which market to go to, or what to buy there. They ordered separate takeaway lunches. James kept crunching especially loudly on his crisps and Harry was disturbing James’ peace with every move he made. 

Harry was exhausted and still miserably in love with James. It was late afternoon and he was losing his fire. He didn’t want to be right anymore, it wasn’t important. He was sulking, alone, in the hall library. The library was just a really large, outdated bookshelf bolted to the wall. Their realtor insisted it was charming. It demanded attention and provided cover to wait for James to emerge from their shared recording room. Finally he heard the door open. He reached for James as he walked by, but James pulled away and rolled his eyes. 

Harry’s anger rolled around in his heart while he was aggressively folding his laundry. His hoodie from Milwaukee was missing. His favorite hoodie. That James had just posted an Insta pic in. He called James into the bedroom and began berating him immediately about returning clothes back to their proper place in the wardrobe. 

“Babe, I don’t care if you want to borrow my stuff, but you have to put it back otherwise you just let it lay on the floor with your stuff. I don’t want my clothes laying around like trash,” 

James frowned deeply and Harry flinched as he raised his voice.

“Jesus fuck, Harry. I don’t know what you want. I don’t. I won’t ever touch anything of yours ever again. If I do, please forgive me, Harry Styles. You can have your assistant send me a fucking invoice,” 

James’ cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. Harry’s face burned and he stared resolutely at the floor. 

“Okay,” he said suddenly feeling young and stupid and ashamed. 

“Don’t do that,” James spat as he turned and strutted into the living room. Blood roared in Harry’s ears. Anger is more comfortable than hurt. Outrage is more beautiful than despair. 

“Do fucking what?” Harry demanded as he rounded the corner in time to see James shrugging on his jacket and tapping through his phone. His eyes snapped up to meet Harry’s. 

“Play the fucking victim. You do it all the time. You get to be the precocious ingenue, but the second you get called on your shit you shrink like a fucking violet. I’m tired, Harry. I’m going out,” 

He slid his phone into his back pocket and and brushed passed Harry. Harry listened to the door open and slam shut, the auto locks happily clicking into place. At least he would have privacy as the pathetic tears rolled down his cheeks and the scent of James’ floral cologne dissipated in the cold air. 

—

He called Gemma and sobbed that James had not only fallen out of love with him, he clearly now despised him. She doted on him, and reassured him he was universally adored, and that they were both just being a bit bratty. He accepted her platitudes and compliments, but this time felt different. He could always see the end of the fight. He could see a resolution on the horizon, no matter how unpleasant the present had become. This time he couldn’t see the end. He tried not to think about it. He listened to the warm rumble of her voice as she told him about a new series she was writing for Vogue UK and he nodded along with his eyes closed. 

“Haz, you should go out tonight. It’s still early and Jamesy did accuse you of being Harry Styles. If you’re getting the punishment, you might as well commit the crime,” She laughed and Harry was surprised to hear himself giggling along. 

“I love you, Gem. I’m gonna go, talk soon, okay?”

“Of course, my love. Be safe and have fun, little one,” 

He sat in the quiet of their living room and watched the light fade from the room as the sun set. There were still watercolor spots clinging to the finish of the coffee table. Looking at them was making Harry’s eyes burn. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. A quick shower would be refreshing and a night out would be fun, a good way to relax. He was just too wound up, is all. Everything would be better tomorrow. 

—

He was wearing torn black jeans with a low cut blue t shirt. He pushed his hair to one side and nodded at the bouncer as he walked into the pub a few blocks down from their flat. James loved the greasy brunch they put on each Saturday morning and it was easy to attend. No one ever seemed to recognize them, and if they did they didn’t care. The last time they’d come here James had held the door open for him and he’d looked beautiful with sunlight streaming through his hair. This time Harry pulled the slimy handle himself and wondered why the bouncer wouldn’t keep his environment more clean. 

—

It was a magical place. It was a fucking Room of Requirement, his drunken brain supplied from deep within his teenage self. He wasn’t even wearing a hat and not a single person had spoken to him. It was like he was invisible. He was 3 pints deep and eyeing the cocktail menu when he felt a hand on his hip. 

“Harry?” It was a Northern voice. It sent shivers down his spine. 

He carefully turned and assessed the man slipping his fingers through his belt loops. He had glassy green eyes and freckled lips. His har was black and a few inches longer than the last time Harry’d seen him. 

“Nate?” Harry’s voice pitched up and he couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face as he wrapped his arms around his old friend. 

“It’s been so long! I haven’t seen you since before X Factor,” 

A blush rose on Nate’s cheeks as he turned towards the bar. That was strange Harry thought as he leaned against the bar top, waiting for Nate’s drink to be mixed. The bar tender was a young woman with iridescent Black skin and lucite earrings.  
“Anything else for you, love?” She asked Harry. He shook his head, he didn’t want a hangover to drag today’s poison into tomorrow. 

The longer they stood and made small talk the more Nate drank and the less nervous he became. They were laughing about the peculiarities of a shared Biology teacher when Nate suddenly turned serious. 

“Harry, do you remember the last time we saw each other?” he asked. His expression was neutral, but his eyes darkened. Harry searched Nate’s face for clues as he cycled back through a decade’s worth of memories. His life in Homes Chapel seemed like a different life time. 

“It was at a party, it was the last Holidays I was home before we started touring,” Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. 

“We were drunk and laying in the back garden looking at the stars,” He tried to keep the memory close. He could smell the clover in the air that night. 

Nate’s voice was calm when it intruded in Harry’s thoughts. 

“You’re right so far, love. What happened next?” He seemed to be getting closer to Harry and the air between them was warm. He shouldn’t have drank anything. He should have stayed home. 

“You kissed me. You crawled on top of me in the garden and we got each other off in our pants,” He heard his own voice as if it was a weak radio transmission. 

Nate was watching his lips as he spoke and Harry felt a traitorous warmth blooming in his belly. 

“You were hot as fuck then, and you’re hot as fuck, now. Come back to my place?” Nate’s voice seemed so loud, but Harry knew no one was listening. 

Time seemed to stand still and Harry’s brain conjured deflections:

Thanks, but I have a boyfriend. I’m flattered, but I should get home so my boyfriend doesn’t worry. Our apartment was the front page of the Times Interiors magazine, I know you know I’m with someone. 

But instead he said, “How drunk are you?” 

A slow smile spread across Nate’s face. 

“Not very. I can spell my name backwards, if you’d like?” Nate pushed himself flush against Harry’s chest and whispered in his ear, “Call a car. I’ll do anything you want. I don’t have roommates,” 

Harry gasped as Nate began to kiss the skin where his shoulder met his neck. He thought of James rolling his eyes and leaving so easily, he wouldn’t care. He probably didn’t care about Harry at all, now. Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and summoned his favorite Uber Black driver. The pick up time flashed across the screen as he shoved the phone away and pulled Nate’s lips up to meet his own. 

They were soft, and warm, and sweetly familiar. Nate pushed himself against Harry as they kissed and pouted when Harry pulled away. 

“My phone’s buzzing,” he whispered as he swiped through his notifications. “The car’s here. It’s in back, let’s go,” 

Nate smiled when Harry took his hand and Harry didn’t let go, even when a paparazzi exploded out of the darkness as they were almost to the car. Harry pulled the door open and let Nate pass before following him in. There were going to be pictures of him leaving a bar, hand in hand, with a man that was not James. Harry refused to panic. James was the one who’d left. 

Nate waited until the car had been absorbed into steady traffic and then removed his seatbelt and crawled into Harry’s lap. They kissed deeply and slowly and Harry ran his hands up and down Nate’s back as he ground himself down on Harry’s cock. 

The car stopped outside an old boarding house that had been recently converted to apartments. 

Nate removed himself from Harry’s lap and opened the car door in one motion. He stood on the curb and reached for Harry’s hand. Harry leaned forward, but before he made contact he caught the driver’s eye in the review mirror. She looked sad. 

Suddenly Harry saw himself from her perspective. She’d been one of his regular drivers for the past year. She’d shepherded him and James to and from events, laughing with them and making fun of their hair and drunk slurring. She’d heard James softly singing him to sleep and seen Harry wrapped up in his arms. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head without breaking eye contact. She didn’t speak, but Harry could still hear her sweet American twang in his head. 

Don’t do this. 

Harry pulled his arm back as if he’d been burned and Nate swayed on his feet, confused. 

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend and his name is James and we had a fight and I’m so sorry I mixed you up in it,” 

Nate was clearly drunker than he had let on. He laughed and stumbled back towards his building. 

“No worries, Hazza. I knew about James, everyone knows about you and James! It’s just you’re such a prize. I wanted to win the prize again,” He hiccuped through a grin and turned away, using his shoulder to pop the door open as he twisted the key. He waved and winked before he shut the door. 

Harry slammed the car door closed and tried to contend with his racing heart. He fucked up. 

“Do you want to go home, sweetheart?” Her voice was soothing and she still looked sad, but not in the same way. Now it was just pity. 

Harry nodded at her and drew ragged, wretched breaths as tears rolled down his face. 

—

It was just after midnight when he got home. The lights were off and the air was still. He was alone. He stripped off his clothes in the entryway and buried them at the bottom of the kitchen bin. They smelled like alcohol and stupidity. He put on sweatpants and hoodie and paced up and down the hallways, too scared to check the time or the internet. Neither were his friend. It’d been almost 12 hours since James left. 

When the sun began to crest over the high rises and Harry’s eyes screamed for sleep he accepted that James was not coming home. Maybe ever again. His phone was exiled on the kitchen island and he had no desire to retrieve it. He walked into the bedroom and crawled beneath the sheets. He cried like he hadn’t for years and soon he was asleep. 

—

Harry woke up sweaty and disoriented. He had a distant headache and anxiety poisoning his stomach. It wasn’t real until he faced it. He could avoid doing that as long as he was alone and ignored his phone. 

He turned the shower up as hot as it would go and let the water pink his skin. When he was feeling especially insecure he would have nightmares where all his tattoos washed off. He stared at his laurel vines and resented them for existing. 

He was fucked. Those pictures from the alley were definitely everywhere by now. He’d taken what was a normal fight in a long term relationship and turned it into the destruction of it instead. So stupid. 

He thought about where James may have gone while he dried his hair. He could be anywhere. He could be in America. He could be with Nick. 

__

It was late in the afternoon when reality demanded to be heard. He couldn’t ignore the buzzing anymore and he couldn’t switch vibrate to silent without seeing his notifications. Deep breath in, blow it out like a balloon. 

It was pure chaos. There were the pictures of him, yes. But those didn’t seem to be the topic of conversation. His text messages weren’t full of accusations, they were all asking how he was doing. He felt like he was missing something. 

He opened Chrome and went to TMZ. The headline was three stories down. 

Harry Styles and James Bay Both Spotted With Other Men On The Same Night. Splitsville?

The pictures of him and Nate led the story, naturally. They both looked drunk and handsome. If it was edited correctly it could’ve been a Gucci ad. Harry was smiling and Nate was laughing, their rings gleamed in the flash. The next set of pictures were of James and Nick. They were at Nick’s favorite dance club and they were kissing. They looked statuesque pressed together. Long and lean, dark hair wavy and swooping. This was awful. Harry didn’t read the article. He shoved his phone into the couch cushions and went back to bed. 

—

It felt like no time had passed and like an eternity had slipped by. Harry slept for an hour and then rolled out of bed and changed his clothes. Black jeans, white t shirt, geometric bandana to keep his hair out of his eyes. He was careful to make sure the clothes he put on were ones that belonged to him. He stared blankly at the walls of their bedroom, eventually letting his eyes catch on James’ things and wonder if he’d ever see him again. They weren’t married. He could send his friends, or movers, to collect his things. The flat was in Harry’s name. The thought made tears sting at the corner of his eyes and he wiped them away. He never thought it would matter that their home was in his name. He never thought he’d be so relieved it was.

He took deep breaths until the urge to cry had passed and walked into the living room. The quiet was peaceful. Digging his phone out of the couch was not. He felt like he was preparing to wash a body before burial. He scratched his wrist on a spring when he pulled the damned thing to the surface and watched a dot of blood congeal before steeling himself and tapping in his passcode. 

First he addressed his professional obligations. He updated his publicist and assistant. No comment to any and all enquiring minds. Only sign his name to the statement. Next he tapped through the majority of his texts without reading them. He just needed to get rid of the red on his home screen. 

He responded to his Mum, Gemma, and Niall. 

I don’t know. I’m fine. I’ll keep you updated. Thanks for checking on me. 

He opened Nick’s text thread and sent the message before he could regret it. 

I hate you.

It did make him feel better, if only for a few minutes. 

—

It was late. The sun set hours earlier and the clouds looked like grey watercolor passing in front of the moon. Harry was still laying on the couch, but had amassed a nest of blankets and food. His legs were stretched across the cushions and crossed at the ankle. He was reading 100 Years of Solitude and wishing he was more talented. He’d fielded each new message as they’d come in and everything seemed to be settling down. Nick hadn’t responded. James’ publicist had called Harry’s, but James himself remained silent. As had Harry. A vicious cycle. 

His eyes were heavy and swollen and he had grown to love the ringing silence. It was safe. He jumped when he heard the deadbolt give way and the door open. 

You will be okay. 

He repeated the mantra as he heard James walk from the door to their bedroom. He only stilled for a second before his steps began down the hall toward the living room. He was looking for Harry. The air became heavy and the predictable beat of James’ feet fell silent. Harry sat up and wrapped himself tighter in his afghan. 

He looked at James. He was wearing his own clothes and it looked like he’d slept and suffered in them. Harry had fully expected him to show up in one of Nick’s oversized jumpers. He looked drawn, and tired. His eyes were red and rubbed raw, and he gnawed his lower lip between his teeth as quiet tears tracked down his face. 

Harry watched him placidly. He was choosing to not acknowledge the pain. Not yet. It didn’t have to be real until he attended to it. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I am so, so sorry. I fucked up. I fucked it all up,”

His voice was hoarse and Harry’s heart slammed against his breast bone. Harry had fucked up, too. But not in the same way and not as bad. If James had seen the pictures of himself he’d seen the pictures of Harry and Nate, but he didn’t seem angry. Harry felt like he was spinning. 

“Do you still love me?” He asked. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore and he was curious. He was still trying to figure out what went so wrong. 

“Harry, of course I still love you. I love you so much,” James smiled a small, timid smile as he spoke and Harry was losing control of his stoicism. His voice broke and he looked away as he answered. 

“Then what happened? James, we’ve been in trouble for awhile. I don’t even know what went wrong. I know it wasn’t just something that happened last night,”

Silence returned and it was not peaceful. It was not comforting. It was painful and insistent. 

“Can I sit with you? I want to be with you when we talk about this,”

James was crying again, but his voice was even. Harry buried his face in his hands and nodded. He felt James’ weight and warmth pressed against his side and relief rushed through his body.Traitorous hormones. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. 

“I kissed someone, too. It was the man in the picture with me from last night. I was friends with him in high school and we messed around a bit back then. We didn’t go home together and we didn’t fuck, but I made a mistake, too. It’s not just your fault, but I still love you, too,”

James listened to Harry’s meandering cadence and didn’t pull away. He just hummed quietly in acknowledgment. He took Harry’s hand and traced his fingernails as he spoke. 

“The thing with Nick is so stupid. I knew he wanted me and playing with that was fun because it was exhilarating and safe at the same time because I’d never actually act on it. Then we’d been fighting so much and I was frustrated and you shine so bright sometimes I can’t see you. He wanted me. I wanted him to. We didn’t have sex, I promise. We kissed at the bar and then I went back to his place and he still wanted me, but I felt sick. I slept on the couch and dreamed of you,” 

James sniffled and Harry gently nudged their thighs together. 

“What should we do?” He asked. Most of the time he didn’t register that James was older than him, but in the moment he felt like a child. 

“I want to be with you, Harry. I’m sorry we’ve been fighting, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I love you so much and the thought of losing you last night made me sick and numb. I’m sorry for what I did. Do you still want to be with me?”  
Harry squeezed James’ hand and rested his head on his shoulder. He smelled of himself and a little of Nick. It hurt in a distant kind of way. 

“I want to be wth you. I always want to be with you. I want to be your boyfriend and your lover, not Harry Styles,” 

He felt James wince as he mimed quotes in the air. 

“That wasn’t fair of me, Harry. I was just trying to hurt you. It was small and petty,” 

“James, stop apologizing. I kissed someone else, too.” 

Harry sat up and leaned away. He wasn’t a child he didn’t need coddled. 

“This is part of our problem. You treat me like I’m going to be out the door at the slightest inconvenience. Do you really see me as that much of a petulant child? You should be angry with me, too.”

Their fingers were still linked as James leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. Harry was getting angry and started spitting out words. 

“Or do you think so little of yourself? I don’t get it. I was beside myself when I saw those pictures of Nick pressed up against you and it’s like you don’t even care that I kissed another man. I’m no better than you, James. I was going to fuck him. I called an Uber and we were on our way to his flat—“

Pink had risen to the height of James’ cheekbones and there was finally an edge in his voice when he interrupted, 

“Well then why didn’t you? If you wanted him so bad?” 

“Because I thought of you. And the thought of losing you was devastating. I came home and hated myself. I thought you’d never speak to me again. You didn’t come home and when I woke up there were the pictures of you and Nick,” 

James squeezed Harry’s hand before he moved. He pushed Harry back onto the couch and crawled on top of him. He pressed his weight down and ground their hips together. He held Harry’s wrists down and whispered in his ear. 

“Is this what you want? I’m very much aware you aren’t a child, Harry,” James angled his hips and pushed Harry’s legs apart. They were both hard and James began a steady thrusting pressure. Harry moaned and arched his back. 

“Yes,” he whispered, “this is what I want,” 

—

The next morning they made a point to stroll through the vintage market hand in hand. Harry was wearing black skinny jeans and a white t shirt with a deep v neck. He’d stood in the mirror and stretched it until there was just a hint of a love bite visible. They bought an ornate mirror and a chevron crocheted afghan. The yarn was soft, worn, and warm tone. Harry had recently discovered maximalist style and was trying to inject a variance of texture in the flat. 

The paparazzi weren’t subtle and neither were Harry and James. It made Harry feel a little dirty, but he knew the sooner they put on a good face the sooner the public would lose interest.

They walked in circles for the better part of an hour before kissing chastely, purely for show, and walking back to the flat. The pictures were online in less than a quarter hour and this time Harry thought they looked like a Calvin Klein advert. Sleek, classic, and handsome. James was so handsome. 

When they got back to the flat James went to the kitchen in search of something to fuel his fast metabolism. Harry settled onto the loveseat and began to rotate through all the upper echelon celebrity gossip sights. It was a toxic habit he’d never been able to break. 

Harry scanned the article on TMZ where ‘insiders’ (their PR reps) had assured the reporter that Harry and James were together and happier than ever. The Bad Night had just been a boy’s night out that was blown out of proportion. Just a laugh with friends. Harry tried not to think to hard behind the reasoning of the narrative and scrolled to the next story. 

It was Nick. Alone, unshaven, clutching a carton of soy milk in a Tesco. He was wearing a blue and green button down with black skinny jeans. He was beginning to look tired. To look his age. 

James paused as he walked behind him and read over Harry’s screen. 

“Do you really hate him?” 

There it was. Harry had wondered if Nick’d shown that text to James. Of course he had. 

“Yes,” Harry said without hesitation. “I do, but I won’t forever. I’m just angry right now because what you did was disrespectful, but what he did was outrageous. He knows how I feel about you and tried to take you—“

“Harry,” James interrupted “This is the same man that called you last summer and essentially bullied you into apologizing to me,” 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, “and he’s also the same man that fucked you less than a year ago,” 

Harry could feel James flinch and immediately apologized. 

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair,” Harry ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ground. 

The silence returned but it was comfortable. There was no animosity or tension hanging in the air, just deflated frustration. 

—

Two months had passed since The Bad Night. 

They were in Toronto and watching Corden on the expansive flat screen in their hotel suite. Nick was the second guest and Harry had been bracing to be positive about it ever since James had very clumsily pointed it out. Several times. 

Harry forced a smile as he listened to Corden announce Nick’s name and watched the man himself slide across the stage to the couch. He looked better. He looked good. 

They listened to Nick and Corden prattle on about the differences between Americans and Brits and Harry was beginning to doze off when he heard Cordon ask: 

“So, Nick. Are you putting those boyish good looks to use? Are you seeing anyone?”

Nick smiled and looked away before answering. “No, I’m not. I’m trying to be okay with being alone. Besides, I have no idea who I’d even be with,” 

Corden laughed and quipped: 

“Oh, come now Grimmy. You’ve been with every dark haired pop star in London,”

Harry’s smile turned to a grimace and James held his breath. 

“Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we?” 

Nick looked panicked as Corden called for the tape to roll and a slideshow of Nick’s beaus, rumored and confirmed, began to play across the screen, backed by an obnoxious saxophone track. 

The pictures of Nick and Harry were toward the beginning and weren’t anything new or interesting. The pictures of him with James from The Bad Night were the last ones to crawl across the screen and they still stung. Harry looked away and cleared his throat. 

Harry watched James gnaw on his bottom lip and took his hand. “I wish all of this would stop, sometimes. I wish we could just be normal boyfriends and work social media, or non profit. We could fight and fuck and do it all in the privacy of our own home. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Yes, but not as lovely as you, Harry,” James said. “You will always be famous, whether it’s to the world, or the little old ladies at the village library. You shine so bright people can’t look away,” 

“They can,” Harry said. “Nick did.” 

James looked up and Harry felt dangerously close to letting secrets slip between his lips. He knew James was frustrated with him, and he wanted to explain. He wanted James to understand.

“The issues between Nick and me go back to when I was 18. It honestly has very little to do with you, specifically. I loved him. Really, truly loved him. But he always made it clear that what he did was only physical. We could be friends and we could fuck, but love or commitment was never on the table. I told myself it was fine, but I internalized it and that’s what I think has contributed to so many of my spectacular romantic failures. Eventually I was the one that ‘ended’ it. I stopped returning his calls while I was on tour because I needed to break from him, but he’s so charismatic. Every time I came back to London I found myself in his bed with his voice whispering to me how beautiful I am and to leave through the back door so the photogs wouldn’t see me,” 

Harry sniffled and roughly wiped an errant tear from the corner of his eye. 

“So, yes, I’m angry that he kissed my boyfriend. It hurts to look at those pictures. But I’m mostly just devastated that he kissed me and threw me away. It’s what he does. He ensnares you with his wit and his personality and you don’t realize you can never have him until he already has you. It’s not fair,”  
Harry sighed deeply to cover the shake in his voice before finishing.

“That stupid little package proves it. He’s at least kissed every single man that was on that screen and I’m sure most of them fell in love with him. Some of them were smart and figured out the con and got away with surface wounds. Then there are people like me that are stupid and swallowed a grenade to try and keep Nick fucking Grimshaw. I just can’t keep doing this. With him. I don’t think I can even be friends with him. I don’t think we were ever really friends. Our relationship depends on supply and demand and I’ve run out of things to give. I just want you. I just want our home and simple life. I wish it was possible,”

James pulled Harry into his chest and then lay quietly, feeling each other’s heart beat, until their breathing evened out and they were both asleep. 

—

It was Spring and they both had time off. At first it was like summer camp with your best friend and a blank check, but soon they started bickering again. Harry listened to himself raise his voice over the fact that he was always the one to buy the hair ties and James was always the one to lose them and stopped in the middle of his sentence. 

James had clearly resigned himself to an afternoon of taking inventory of his flaws and raised his eyebrow when Harry stopped shouting. 

“I”m not going to do this again. This is exactly what we were doing before the Bad Night. I don’t want to fight with you,” 

James smiled and his eyes looked tired. He took Harry’s hand and traced over his knuckles. 

“I don’t want to fight with you either. I think maybe we just need a bit of help,”

James looked away as soon as Harry met his eyes. He was nervous. James who was made of confidence and sinew. 

“Do you mean, like counseling?” Harry asked. James nodded and they sat quietly at their Moroccan coffee table and allowed the word to consume them. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Harry said as he squeezed James’ hand. “It’s just like maintenance on a car. Just a normal part of life,” 

James nodded along and some of the life seemed to leech back into his cheeks. 

“Brilliant,” he said. “I really thought there was a chance you’d leave after that,” he smiled and stared at Harry’s cheekbones. He never made eye contact when he was feeling vulnerable. 

“No, I’m not quite done with you, yet. Haven’t you seen the news? Harry Styles has finally been domesticated and word on the street is that it’s because he’s with an older man with a huge cock,”

Finally James’ eyes locked to Harry’s as they both laughed and clutched at their bellies. 

—

The therapist turned out to be a tall Black woman who radiated calm and love. Harry was obsessed with her. They started going once a week as a couple and Harry looked forward to their time in her office. The walls were grey and spotted with rainbows thrown by a prism hanging in the window. They were both emotionally stunted, Harry especially so. Gloria walked them through simple conversations where they would state their feelings plainly. Something Harry had been taught to avoid at all costs by his media coaches and something James’ British sensibilities intensely disliked. 

“Harry, it makes me feel anxious and insecure that you refuse to resolve the situation with Nick,” 

Harry immediately sucked in a breath to defend himself, but Gloria beat him to it. 

“James, I’m going to stop you. Remember to not cast judgment in your language. You said that Harry ‘refuses’ to resolve the situation with Nick. Have you ever plainly asked him to? Have you ever told him how that situation makes you feel unstable in your relationship with him?” 

James pinched the bridge of nose while he was thinking of what to say. They were definitely going to go over their session time. 

“No, I’ve never asked him plainly, but we’ve talked about it before. I never told him how it makes me feel because I feel like I don’t deserve to be upset by it. I was the one who had sex with Nick and I was the one who kissed him. What right do I have to be jealous of him, now?”

“How can you be jealous of him?” Harry asked. The shock was enough for him to disregard the conversation structure they used, but Gloria seemed like she was allowing it. 

“Because you obviously feel very strongly for him! You tell me you hate him and that losing him was the most painful thing that has ever happened to you. He means so much to you that we are sitting here and talking about the impact he’s having on our relationship. And you won’t even acknowledge it,” 

“There’s nothing to acknowledge!” Harry’s voice was pitching upwards and raked his fingers through his hair. 

“Harry that is total shit and you know it. You think about him all the time. I know you check his Twitter and his Instagram,” 

“I can’t use my phone now?” 

“Gentlemen. That is enough. You will show each other respect in my office, or you are disrespecting me. James, again you are making assumptions without talking to Harry. Harry, you are clearly more invested in this than you’d like to admit, otherwise it wouldn’t upset you so much. Harry. What would it look like if you did try to resolve your situation with Nick.” 

Gloria’s voice was like a balm and Harry could feel his heart slowing back down as he relaxed into the couch cushions. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything meaningful to say. He’s had the riot act read to him by lots of his lovers and he always laughs about it the next day,”

“Are you one of his lovers?” Gloria asked. 

“What? No, of course not,” Harry spluttered back as James blushed deeply. 

“Then you see how the situation you described does not relate to your own. It’s my guess that Nick has his own traumas that inform the way he chooses to live and that is outside of your control. I think it would be helpful to have a conversation with him and just tell him how he’s impacted your life. At the end of the conversation you can say goodbye forever, or make plans to get coffee next week, that’s up to you. But Harry, pretending he doesn’t exist while still following him on social media is not a solution and it is clearly upsetting to your partner. Will you think about what I’ve suggested, both of you?”

They nodded in unison and caught their breath as Gloria stood up and hit the chimes that signaled the end of the session. 

—

They went home and had sex. It was their post therapy tradition and it reminded them that they both were human. 

Harry loved James’ body. He was lean and defined without trying and he radiated heat. Harry ran his fingers over the bumps of James’ ribs as he breathed. James’ eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He would hum whenever Harry pressed too hard. 

“I’m sorry you feel jealous. You don’t deserve to. You are amazing and no one I’ve ever been with compares to you,” Harry whispered into the silence. James smiled and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders, eyes still closed. 

“I love you, Hazza,” James mumbled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. 

“I’m going to talk to him. I’m going to text him tomorrow. I’ll take care it and then we can never think of it again. Gloria will be so proud,” Harry was beginning to fall asleep and slurred his words together. He felt James gently squeezing his bicep and then he was gone. 

—

I hate you

The last message he sent to Nick. He still didn’t regret it. Harry assumed Nick still had the same number, he wasn’t famous enough to have to change it that often. 

Is this still Nick?

The answer was almost immediate. 

yes, harry

can I call you?

of course

Nick answered on the second ring. 

“What can I do for you, Harry. It’s been so long,” 

“Yes, Nick. It has. I need to talk to you about our history. And about James. Can I come by your place this week?”

He could hear Nick softly breathing. He imagined him pacing and chewing his lip. 

“How about Tuesday? I have a holiday from the show. Do you wanna come by for lunch?” 

“Sure, I’ll see you then. Thanks, Nick.” 

“See you soon, Harry,”

Nick hung up first and Harry’s phone blinked back to the home screen. He felt young and dumb.  
—

Tuesday. Harry had three days to prepare to face Nick. James was leaving for a week long tour of Scotland in the morning and Harry was trying to appreciate him before he left. The anxiety was complicating things. James had been telling him about a new favorite book and Harry hadn’t heard a word he’d said for at least the last ten minutes. James was laying on the couch with his legs stretched across Harry’s thighs. He was outlining the plot issues he simply couldn’t abide when Harry began to gently squeeze. 

“Harry, are you feeling frisky?” James was smiling and Harry laughed as he worked his way further up, towards James’ hip. 

“Just going to miss you,” Harry nuzzled against James’ hip bone and relaxed into it when James began to run his fingers through his hair. 

“I’ll miss you, too. It won’t be that long, it’ll be okay,” James began to rub Harry’s shoulders and he could feel the warmth spreading down his chest. 

“I’m going to try to talk to Nick while you’re out. I just feel like it’ll be easier. I don’t think he’d be willing to talk if he thought there was a chance you’d walk in,” 

James hummed as he thought. 

“Well, I think it’s good of you to talk with him. He texted me an apology a few weeks back, I don’t think he’s holding any grudges,” 

“He did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry felt James’ laugh rumble through his chest. 

“Why do you think, Hazza? You haven’t exactly reacted well to Nick in recent history. I didn’t want to upset you. I thanked him and told him that I felt bad for what is going on between the two of you. But it’s not my place, not my business,” 

He ran his fingers through Harry’s curls and they rested together until all the daylight had evaporated from the room. 

—

Harry missed James desperately when he was gone, but he also got so much more writing done. 

Harry’s abruptly ended formal education was a sore spot and something that he was very sensitive about, but it felt less shameful when he was producing good writing. He’d blown through two songs, both very indulgent and synthesizer heavy, both longing for James, and he’d started to play around with a short story, just for fun. 

It was about a group of teenage girls who crashed their car and became banshees. It was fun to write scary stories, and it make Harry feel like the cool camp counselor he’d always felt he was in his heart. He imagined having it published in GQ, a full body portrait of him in a Gucci boy scout jumper brooding next to the fiction. 

Another thing Harry did when James was out was smoke a huge amount of weed. James didn’t mind, and enjoyed it himself, but Harry liked to take advantage of the solitude and push his consciousness. Between the banshees and the weed Tuesday arrived much more quickly than Harry was prepared for. 

He gnawed his fingernails down to the quicks and picked at his cuticles until they bled. The ride across the city had never been longer. Nick’s street was empty and Harry was grateful for it. Nick wasn’t famous enough to warrant constant paparazzi surveillance and there wasn’t a soul in Britain who thought Harry didn’t hate him. No one was interested in watching Nick Grimshaw. It made Harry a bit sad. 

He knocked at Nick’s ornate front door and counted his heart beats. He’d just made it to ten when the door swung open and Nick materialized into Harry’s reality. He was still tall, still freckled, and still smiled the same way. 

“Harry, come in, please,” He stepped out of the way and motioned Harry into the living room as he locked the door behind them. 

NIck’s house was warm and richly decorated, but Harry still felt cold and his hands were still clammy. 

“It’s good to see you, Harry. I thought that I was dead to you,” Nick tried to forced a laugh, but it was pained and transparent. 

They settled across from each other on over stuffed sofas with a mosaic coffee table buffering between them. 

“I know, Nick. This is all so awful and unpleasant,”

“Then why are you here?” Harry could tell Nick was trying hard to stay neutral, but the facade was quickly fracturing. 

“I’m here because I want James to know that he is the only man I love. I want to resolve this so I can move on with him. I want to be with him forever, Nick. You know that. You’ve known that. Did you do it to hurt me? Why did you kiss him that night?” 

Harry hadn’t planned on being so direct, and based on the shock was Nick’s face he wasn’t expecting it. Harry sat quietly while Nick chewed his lips and gathered his thoughts. 

“I wasn’t thinking about you when I did it. I was thinking about me. James is very fit, and he’s fun, and sweet. It feels good to be with him, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I wanted to feel good.”

Nick’s words were harsh and chilling. Harry couldn’t tell if he was being vicious on purpose. 

“That’s quite a shit thing to do to him, Nick. Don’t you care how he feels? He was a wreck when he came home that night,”

Nick rolled his eyes and scoffed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Harry. Neither are you. It’s not my job to invest in your emotional states. I kissed him for the same reason I used to kiss you. I fucked him for the same reason I used to fuck you,” 

His eyes were sharp and Harry didn’t feel young anymore. He felt angry. 

“And what was that reason, precisely?” Harry asked. 

This time Nick really did laugh before he responded. He raked his fingers through his hair and Harry could see the bones in his arm turning over each other as he did. 

“Because you were fit and I wanted a fuck. Because it was convenient. Because I wasn’t supposed to have either of you. Because I was bored.” 

They sat in silence while Harry felt Nick’s words wash over him. When he spoke he was quiet and calm. Relieved. 

“I think it’s time for us to say goodbye, Nick. I don’t think we’re going to improve each other’s lives again, if we ever did. The time we spent together will always be important to me, but it’s been over for longer than I realized,” 

Harry stood up and Nick followed as he walked back to the front door. 

“I’m a shit person, Harry. I’m sorry. At least let me call you a car,” 

“No, it’s fine. It’s a nice night and I’d like a walk through the park. Take care of yourself, Nick.” 

Harry smiled at Nick before sliding out the front door and walking into the pink glow of the afternoon light. 

—

When James finally came home Harry felt his heart come back to life in his chest. He threw himself at James and buried his face in his neck and he breathed him in. His warmth golden and made Harry feel coated in sunlight. 

“I’m so happy you’re home. I missed you so much,” 

“Missed you too, Hazza,”

“I love you so much,”

“Love you too, Hazza,”  
James allowed Harry to cling to him for another few moments before slowly peeling him away and dragging his luggage back into their bedroom. Harry followed at a close distance and sprawled across their bedspread as James began to unpack. 

“So how’d the detente with Nick go? Do I want to know?” 

Harry smiled and answered easily. 

“It was fine. It was good. He was really honest and we said goodbye. It wasn’t an unpleasant goodbye, but our relationship is over now. We can’t be friends and we’re okay with it,” 

“Well that sounds very mature. Do you feel good about it?”

“Yes, I do. I feel like he’s finally packed up and moved out of my mind. No space for him anymore.” 

James laughed and the skin by his eyes rolled into relaxed folds. 

“How was Scotland? Were you endlessly charmed by the boys and their roguish accents?” 

“Oh, of course. But unfortunately there is this English lad that I just can’t shake off,” 

James turned around and walked to their bed. Harry smiled as James gently lay down on top of him. 

“That’s too bad,” Harry whispered as James’ chest gently pressed him into the mattress. He spread his legs and James settled between them. 

“I’m just sick over him to be honest. He has a gorgeous body,” James paused and slipped his hand beneath Harry’s shirt, “and he is the sweetest and most devoted lover, and I plan on talking to him about anything he pleases for the rest of our lives,” 

All Harry could do was moan as James pulled their clothes off, opened him up, and fucked him slow and deep. It felt like honeymoon sex. Harry imagined the suits they would wear at the ceremony as James’ words flowed through his mind:

the rest of our lives.


End file.
